


Innocent Bliss

by darthneko



Category: Final Fantasy VIII
Genre: Established Relationship, Incest, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-11-19
Updated: 2006-02-25
Packaged: 2017-10-03 04:27:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 20,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darthneko/pseuds/darthneko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Truth is selective if the majority of the world doesn't know. (The happy fluffy OTP remix)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Eye of the Beholder

Squall paused at the office door, leaning against the frame for a moment on the pretext of reaching down to dislodge a pebble from the heel of one boot. His cheek rested briefly against the heavy wood of the door and he held his breath, listening.

Nothing. No swearing. No crashes. No sound of anything breaking.

Straightening, he glared at the door, as though it were to blame. He didn't, he thought grimly, put it past Kiros to be having a jest at his expense. The older man didn't entirely approve of his occasional visits, and had few bones about saying so. Still, Kiros had seemed genuine enough when Squall had met him on the landing of the main stairs as he came up. Kiros had been stomping down them, expression set in an irritated line.

"Going to see him?" Kiros had asked, jerking his head up towards the office. When Squall had nodded, a little hesitant, Kiros had made a disgusted noise and waved him on. "Better you than me," the older man had snapped. "He's in a mood. If he asks, I'm not here." Before Squall could ask what he meant Kiros had been gone, stalking down the stairs, and Squall had heard the hum of the platform lift as he left.

Squall sighed, raking a hand through the loose strands of his hair as he stared at the door. Nothing. Silence. No other clues, at all, as to what to expect from the interior of the office.

Reaching out, he thumbed the intercom. "Laguna?"

The response was immediate and answered his question. "What?" a voice barked angrily. Shaking his head, Squall opened the door, slipping inside.

The President of Esthar, in Squall's experience, was the least authoritative looking politician he had ever seen. Long dark hair caught back in a thong, tanned from the summer weather with his shirt sleeves rolled up and collar undone, a pair of sunglasses shoved up on the top of his head - behind the large glass desk that was mostly drowned in paper and computer printouts, he looked like what he'd always claimed to be; a retired journalist, instead of the leader of a country.

He also, if Squall was any judge, looked like a man who was sulking.

Laguna looked up from the papers he was signing as Squall came in, scowling. "Oh, it's you. Where's Kiros? And shut that damned door."

It wasn't "Hello, Squall, it's great to see you, how have you been" but neither of them were particularly good at such things. Squall stepped inside and let the door slide shut behind him. Crossing to the large desk, he moved a closed laptop aside to clear enough space to rest one hip on. Laguna was growling to himself, handwriting mostly illegible as he quickly scrawled out another signature and tossed the documents to one side before grabbing up another from a much larger stack.

"Kiros left," Squall told him. "Did you two have a fight? Or did he just leave you with all the work?"

Laguna snarled something Squall didn't quite catch. "Fine," he snapped then. "If you're here, be useful. Go turn on the light. It's too dark in here to read."

"You ought to open the blinds," Squall countered. "It's a nice day outside." But Laguna just glared at him and with a shrug Squall went to switch on the wall lamps around the room, the warm tint of their lights giving the large office a softer glow.

Laguna swiveled his chair around to be closer to one of them, glaring at the document he was reading. Squall settled himself back on the corner of the desk, watching as the older man flipped through the papers and finally, with a snort, scrawled another signature on the last page and pitched it towards the 'done' pile before reaching for a new stack. That one he tilted further towards the light, swearing. "Damn it... they can't expect anyone to look at these things if they don't make them readable!"

"Here." Squall leaned back across the desk, reaching to tug the paper from Laguna's hand. "Let me see."

The older man surrendered the document grudgingly, watching through narrowed eyes as Squall scanned over the papers. Shrugging, Squall handed them back. "It looks fine to me."

The look on Laguna's face told him that wasn't at all the answer the older man had been looking for. The president snatched them back and this time, when he held them to the light to read, he held them at arm's length, glare thunderous. A craned neck and squinted eyes didn't seem to accomplish what he was looking for and finally, swearing loudly, Laguna slipped the glasses he had shoved up into his hair back down over his eyes.

Squall blinked. They weren't, as he'd first thought, sunglasses. They were a pair of small, gold rimmed reading glasses.

"Those are new," he commented mildly. Laguna shot him a look that might have been deadly under other circumstances and thumped the papers back down on the desk, scribbling a note on them so hard that his pen tip tore a hole in the page. Squall wisely said nothing after that and the older man went through several more documents, furiously glaring at them all, lips pressed angrily tight.

Finally Laguna flung his pen down, turning the glare back on Squall. "Well?" he demanded. "Don't just sit there. Go ahead and fucking say it."

"Say what?" Squall asked.

"What you're thinking," Laguna snarled. He slipped the glasses off, looking as though he'd like to throw them across the room. "You might as well. Kiros already did. 'You look serious,'" he mimicked viciously, then swore. "Like I have to look like someone's damn grandfather to look serious!"

"You think they make you look old?" Squall asked, surprised. Laguna, however, was having none of it.

"There, you see?" he demanded, as though the word on Squall's lips was all the proof he needed. He slammed the glasses down on a stack of printouts. "God _damn_ it. I don't fucking need these. I was down at the shooting range just the other day - my eyes are _fine_!"

"You're far sighted," Squall countered. "You only need them to read, right? Besides, I wasn't going to say they made you look..."

"Old," Laguna repeated furiously. "They make me look..."

"Dignified," Squall suggested, searching for a word that might make the man feel better about it. He honestly wasn't quite sure either what the fuss was, or what he himself thought they did to Laguna's appearance. It wasn't bad, he decided. Just...

"Blind," Laguna spat. Kicking his chair back, he got to his feet and headed for the door. "Fuck it. I'm not doing any more of this today."

He had left the glasses where they lay. Squall picked them up curiously, examining them. The design was subdued, the gold frames thin and almost delicate. When he held them up a glance through the lenses showed that they were, in fact, nothing but polished glass - only small half circles set in the lower part of the lens were ground to a prescription, blurring the colors of the room as he looked through them.

Laguna was almost to the door when Squall's voice stopped him. "Cute."

The older man half turned back, his expression incredulous. "What?"

Squall rested his weight on the edge of the desk, using both hands to cautiously slip the glasses on. They felt strange, a little too big for his face, and he left them perched on the end of his nose where he could look up through the clear portion without the stomach churning distortion of the bifocals. "They make you look..." he hesitated, considering the word carefully, then nodded slightly, "cute."

"Cute?" Laguna repeated in disbelief.

"Different," Squall decided, "but in a good way. Distinguished." Leaning back on his arms, he shrugged slightly, the motion sending one side of his leather jacket slipping down his shoulder. He made certain he had Laguna's full attention before uttering the next word in a lower voice, the barest ghost of a smile playing on his lips. "Desirable." That won him the response he wanted. Laguna turned around fully, facing him. He was still frowning, but he was having to work to maintain the expression, his usual grin struggling to resurface with a pleased look to it. "Say that again," he ordered.

Squall smiled indulgently, the unusual gesture brightening his face. "Desirable," he repeated firmly, watching the older man's eyes light up. "Sexy," he added deliberately, pronouncing the word with slow relish, giving each syllable its own exhale with a tiny pause between.

Laguna could move quickly when he wanted to. Squall only had time to draw a small breath before the older man was on him, hands sweeping the papers to either side out of the way as Laguna leaned down, trapping him against the desk. Squall tipped his head back, looking past the rim of the glasses to meet the bright green of Laguna's eyes with a challenging stare. The heat in the bare space between their bodies held a promise all its own, one echoed in the warm brush of Laguna's playfully breathed words against his cheek and lips. "Is this what you wanted? Because if you say that again, I won't be held responsible."

Squall didn't answer immediately. Reaching up, he slipped the glasses off. Turning them around, he carefully slid them onto Laguna, ignoring the way the other man tensed. Tilting his head, he contemplated the result.

"Well?" Laguna drawled, the frown threatening once more.

Leaning forward, Squall reached around the other man's shoulders to pull the band loose from his hair, setting the long strands free to fall around his face. The dark color was touched with gray and he could see strands of silver winding through it, but Laguna had weathered the years remarkably well. In the occasional times he was willing to admit he bore more than a passing resemblance to the other man, even Squall was inclined to say they looked more like older and younger brother than anything else.

His fingers trailed down across the open collar of Laguna's shirt, toying with the first fastened button. "Sexy," he confirmed.

He caught a flash of a wolfish grin before Laguna pounced, the hard press of lips across his own stealing his breath away. Squall fisted his hands in the older man's shirt, dragging him bodily closer until they were pressed together, the polished edge of the desk biting into his thighs as Laguna ground slowly against him.

A small moan burst free as the kiss broke. Squall arched up, letting go long enough to let Laguna push his jacket off onto the desk, paper stacks tipping over to flutter in clouds to the floor. Then he reached out again, fingers attacking the buttons of Laguna's shirt. "You're wearing too much," he complained.

Laguna hesitated, his hands sliding beneath Squall's shirt to slip warm across his ribs. "Squall..." He tried, halfheartedly, to pull away slightly. "Wait. I didn't lock the door. Kiros..."

"Already knows what your ass looks like," Squall growled bluntly, tugging on the shirt to free it from Laguna's belt. "Besides, he left. I told you that."

"He's not the only one here," Laguna protested, but his hands had dropped to Squall's belts, unfastening the wide strips of leather to let them drop with a heavy clatter to the floor.

"He's the only one who'd walk in without warning," Squall pointed out. He triumphantly wrestled the shirt off of Laguna, tossing it behind the desk before reaching to pull the older man back down again. His tongue trailed a line across the man's tanned throat, drawing a low hum of pleasure in its wake. Hands slipped back beneath his shirt to tease across his stomach and chest before they slowly pushed him backwards.

Papers crinkled beneath his shoulders, the sharp line of a pen digging in just above one hip, but Squall didn't care. He arched his back, breath catching slightly as he watched Laguna lean down, the loose strands of the man's hair brushing spider soft trails across the younger man's stomach. Strong hands slid up the inside of his thighs, pushing his legs farther apart, the teasing touch making him moan softly.

The warm, wet tip of a tongue slid up his ribs, his shirt pushed up and away. Squall caught at handfulls of silken hair, the moan becoming full voiced as Laguna's lips closed across a nipple, teeth grazing lightly, the warm flush of it sweeping through him. "Yes..."

The older man's soft chuckle vibrated through his chest. Fingers slipped between them, finding the buttons of Squall's pants and tugging them free. The younger man caught his breath, hissing, his hands tightening on the other's hair. "Laguna -"

The other man pulled free and moved up to kiss him again, silencing him. His weight slid between Squall's thighs, bearing down in a slow, grinding thrust that made them both gasp. Squall's fingertips found the older man's belt; hooking them into it, he tugged, breaking the kiss with a low growl. "Get these _off_."

"Demanding," Laguna complained breathlessly, but he leaned back, his hands making short work of the task. Squall shivered, reaching up, the air of the room cool against his flushed skin.

Laguna caught his wrists, pushing them down against the desk. Pinned, Squall could only gasp, arching, as the older man leaned down, their erections sliding slowly against each other. Deliberate thrusts, teasing, the desk too high and too wide for him to find any leverage against it. His breath broke in a frustrated sob as he twisted, trying to urge the other man on. "Fuck... Laguna... ah!" The cry was hoarse and low, breathless, as Laguna's lips fastened against his neck, drawing hard against the tender skin. "Ah... please..."

His wrists were released, Laguna's hands going to his hips to lift and hold, sliding roughly across his thighs. Squall threw back his head, breath coming in harsh gasps as they moved together, the rhythm faster and harder, driving his shoulders into the surface of the desk. "Yes... Yessss...."

It swept through him in a slow building wave, cresting hot and tight through his groin as the orgasm burst. Squall shuddered, lip caught between his teeth, breath a muffled whimper as he tried not to cry out. Laguna was less restrained, his groan harsh and loud as he climaxed, his grip against Squall's hip bruisingly tight.

For long moments the only sound was their labored breaths. Squall caught at Laguna's hair where it trailed across his chest, tugging the other man's head up to kiss him, teeth catching gently at his lips.

Laguna half opened his eyes, his smile lopsided. Cheeks flushed, his hair disheveled and falling across his face; Squall grinned suddenly, laughing. Laguna cocked his head slightly, his look turning puzzled. "What?"

Squall slid the tip of one finger up the bridge of the other man's nose, pushing up the frame of the small glasses. The edges of the lenses, where they rested against Laguna's heated skin, were fogged over. "Definitely sexy," he decided.

Laguna smiled, leaning down to press home another kiss, his tongue sliding slowly across Squall's lips until the younger man shivered. "Guess I'll have to keep them, then," he breathed, his lips trailing a path of tiny kisses across the line of jaw and throat. "Old men like me need all the help they can get..."


	2. Tease

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Squall has a question for Laguna... and an offer.

"Ask you a question?"

Squall's voice was low and relaxed. I was sprawled on my stomach across his bed, stretched out limply while his fingertips traced patterns down my spine in long, languid sweeps that teased gently at all the little ticklish places in my ribs. He hesitated slightly as he asked and I murmured wordless assent without opening my eyes - if it would keep him doing what he was doing, I was all for it.

His fingers resumed their path, sliding down the base of my spine. I made a soft sound, arching into the touch. A single fingertip traced light, lazy circles around one buttock and his voice was amused. "Why does the President of Esthar have the Galbadian Army emblem tattooed on his ass?"

I blinked, then pushed my face up from the pillow, straining slightly to see over my shoulder. He was sprawled half across my legs, the barest hint of a smile tugging at his lips as he watched me. "What..." My brain caught up with my body and I groaned, sinking back down to the pillow. "Oh. _That_."

"'Oh, that'?" Squall mimicked, disbelieving. "Don't tell me you forgot about it."

"Well it's not where I can see it very easily, now is it?" I demanded a touch peevishly.

He chuckled softly. "So...?" he prompted.

I buried my face in the pillow. I could feel the flush heating my cheeks. "I was in the army, you know that."

He made a little tsking noise, his fingertip circling over the spot on my flank. "Do _all_ Galbadian soldiers have one, then?"

He could probably see the blush on my shoulders. "No..." I muttered into the pillow. Sighing, I gave up any pretense of dignity. "Look, I was young. I was stupid. I was _drunk_."

That earned me a full throated laugh. "_That_ I'll believe." I felt him lean down and then his lips replaced his fingertip, his tongue laving a slow, wet circle around the spot in question. I caught my breath, embarrassment and the lassitude of before momentarily forgotten.

He settled against me again, a warm, heavy weight. "So who got you drunk?"

Nice to be given the benefit of the doubt that it hadn't been my own stupidity. "Ward."

Squall just snorted slightly, a sound that was verging on a laugh.

"He dared me to get it there," I explained. Twisting, I stretching an arm around to point vaguely back at my shoulder blade. "I dared him to get his _there_. That one hurt a hell of alot more, and you can see it every time he takes his shirt off."

"Kiros must have laughed himself sick at you two," Squall mused.

I grinned. Shifting slightly, I rolled us both over enough that I could point to the upper inside of my thigh. "His is right there."

Squall just looked at me. "You're joking," he said flatly.

I probably sounded far too smug. "No, I'm not. But you wouldn't _believe_ how shit faced drunk we had to get him before he did it. He didn't speak to us for three weeks."

Squall considered, then shook his head without answering, the grin hovering just in sight. A hand on my side rolled me the rest of the way over and he pushed himself up, bringing one lean leg around until he was straddled across my hips. I made an appreciative sound. Reaching down, his fingertips continued their wandering across my chest. "Maybe I should get one," he suggested quietly.

I smiled at the joke. "Of what?"

Squall arched his spine, stretching back slightly. I raised my hands, slipping them around his waist. He considered, head cocked slightly to the side. "SeeD insignia," he replied, in a tone that said it should have been obvious.

He didn't actually sound like he was joking at all but with Squall it was often hard to tell. "Why?" I hazarded to ask.

The ghost of a teasing grin flashed back, warming his grey eyes. "You have one. Sounds like the start of a family tradition. Shouldn't I carry it on?"

"Squall..." He grinned broader at my warning tone, easily capturing my hands in his before I could attack his ribs in retribution.

"Or maybe because I want to," he amended, his tone softer, and now he looked serious again even with the hint of a smile. He released one of my hands, leaning back as he glanced down. One slender finger traced an arc around his navel, sweeping upwards across his abdomen, the motion catching my eyes. I swallowed, feeling my mouth go a little dry, as he traced another arc on the other side, that one sliding downward to brush the dark curls of his groin.

He was watching my reaction, eyes half closed, his smile almost predatory. "Right there," he breathed softly, and suddenly I wasn't at all sure he was joking. "Where you could see just the edge of it under my shirt."

The hand that was holding mine slid forward, my palm pressed beneath his to the warm flesh of his belly. He leaned down, the heat of his growing erection hard against my stomach, his words continuing in a relentless whisper. "Every time you looked at me, I'd know where your eyes were... tracing that design, where it disappears under my belt..."

My breath was growing strangled somewhere in my chest, caught and held by his soft words and the fantasy he was creating that sank heat straight between my thighs. "Gods, Squall..."

"Think I should?" The words were light and warm against my neck, his lips just brushing my skin in a feathery caress. "Would you like that?"

I had to swallow hard before I found my voice. "Fuck, yes..." Coherency was slipping away from me as he shifted, a slow rocking of his weight across my hips and groin. He kept my hand trapped against his belly and I could feel the tiny shivers there, the flex of muscles as he bent, his lips and loose strands of hair slipping across my chest.

"I'd want you there," he continued into the hollow of my throat. "Sitting there. Watching while it was done. While I lay there, and you, watching, your eyes on me..." he paused for one heartbeat, the words breathed against my pulse. "Every. Single. Minute."

He punctuated it with small bites, his teeth playing across my throat. I gasped, leaning my head back, my free hand bruising against his hip. "Ahh...."

His voice dropped lower, husky, warm against my racing pulse. "Will you do that? Your hands on me, while they're doing it... watching..."

I was loosing my ability to breath, never mind think. "Yes," I hissed again. "Hell _yes_."

Squall made a pleased noise. He let go of my hand long enough to make a long armed reach for the oil we had discarded earlier, fumbling through the covers beside me before pushing himself back up, his weight solid across my hips. I reached for him but he took my hand again, fingers painfully tight around my wrist until I relented.

His smile was pure, unadulterated tease. Turning my palm up, he tipped a measure of heavy oil across my fingers, clear and cool to the touch. I started to reach forward again but he stopped me, his grip on my wrist accepting no argument.

I almost had to close my eyes, the moan rising through my throat as my fingertips, under his direction, traced the first long, sloping line up across the heated skin of his belly. His free hand reached down, catching at my chin to keep me focused, his touch mutely forcing me to watch.

I don't think anything could have forced me to look away.

Up around one side, down across the other, two halves of a whole. Around his navel in a smooth arc and downwards, the oil glistening on his skin as he used my fingers to trace the design. Droplets of it fell, heavy crystals against crisp dark curls. There was a whimper somewhere in my throat just dying to be set free.

Squall's eyes were dark as he watched me. Tugging my hand up, he let go of my jaw, threading his fingers through my slick ones. When he leaned forward his breath whispered across my fingertips, the oil smearing wetly across his chin in slick streaks. The pink tip of his tongue flickered out, testing. His eyes never left mine and I moaned as his lips slid around my finger.

"You are the world's worst tease," I whispered. His teeth worried gently at my knuckle in answer, saliva and oil mingling across his lips as he slowly pulled back.

"Who says I'm teasing?" he breathed.

He shifted his weight backwards and I couldn't find an answer, my breath caught up in a series of little gasps as I arched into him. He sighed softly, his hips rolling in counterpoint to my thrust, drawing another moan from me.

I made a disappointed sound when Squall leaned forwards, his weight leaving me entirely. His lips brushed mine briefly, the heat of our breath mingling between our open mouths. "Laguna," he whispered, drawing out the vowels of my name into long, slow caresses of sound as I shuddered beneath him.

He pushed my hand down between our bodies, leaning up to give me better access. His skin was warm to the touch, already slick with sweat and the remnant of the oil we had used earlier. He closed his eyes as I slowly pushed a finger into him, the tip of his tongue just touching his teeth, the muscles of his throat working without sound.

The warmth of his skin was nothing compared to the silk heat inside of him. I bit down on my lip as I twisted, reaching; I knew I had found what I was looking for when his hands clenched on the sheets, the tension trembling up the long lines of his arms as his breath escaped in a quiet gasp.

"Gods..." It was the only thing I could verbalize, the words coming on panting breaths. "Oh gods... Squall..." So unbelievably beautiful, all muscle and sinew stretched out above me, dark strands of his hair stuck to his forehead and cheeks.

One calloused hand came up, cupping rough across my mouth to silence me. He pulled away with a hiss, breath catching. Sitting up with a warning tap across my lips, he reached back, his fingertips sliding smoothly along my length. I gasped, the square press of his palm against my stomach keeping me pinned to the bed.

Squall caught my gaze, his eyes dark and half slitted. "No teasing," he whispered. The muscles in his thighs flexed, shifting, and I cried out as he slid onto me in one long, smooth movement.

His weight kept me in place, heavy across my hips, his fingers digging deep into my thighs as he caught his breath in deep gulps. I was moaning, my own hands scrabbling and clenched around the blankets. Squall drew another breath, swallowing, then slowly leaned back, easing the angle as he shifted to rise slowly up and then fall again. The light shivered in bright lines along the oil on his stomach, muscles clenching with each movement.

I could die like this. I could die like this, and I wouldn't _care_.

He wasn't letting me move, the pace he set slow and torturous. I was keening softly with each gasped breath, straining upward with his thrusts, words falling inbetween the pants. "Ah... please! Fuck.... oh gods..."

His hands caught at mine and Squall tore me away from twisting the covers, shifting my grip to the hard curves of his hips. "Laguna," he hissed and the request was there, unspoken, his own need held tight in heavy breaths.

I surged upwards, the motion driving a cry from both of us as I twisted, rolling him beneath me. I slipped a hand beneath one leg and pushed, driving his hips up and back as I thrust deep. His cry broke off in a strangled gasp, his head thrown back. White hot, slick and grasping; I was half sobbing, thrusting hard, lost in the feel of him and the tiny little moans he was making as he arched and strained under me.

When he came the heavy streaks painted thick across his belly; oil and sweat and cum over shivering skin, his cry loud and full throated as he stiffened. I ground my hips hard into his, tiny short thrusts, hard and fast, my own cry drowning his out as I shuddered through the molten heat of orgasm.

When I got my breath mostly back I was sprawled across his chest, his legs clasped loosely around my waist, his own breath still rough edged beneath my cheek. I pressed a breathless kiss to slick skin, his fingers moving lazily through my hair in answer.

It was a few minutes more before I felt like moving might be a potential option. I pushed up enough on one elbow to look at him. Squall's eyes were closed, one arm flung up across his face. "Were you actually serious?" I demanded.

One eye slitted open to look at me, then closed again. He was silent for a minute, then shrugged slightly. "Zell had his done in Dollet. I've got the day free tomorrow - we can take the train in."

I had to swallow around the tightness in my throat. "You're _really_ serious?"

"I wasn't joking." He glanced at me again, sidelong. "Do you want to?"

"Fuck yes!" I probably sounded like a kid getting presents, but I didn't care. Squall let me tug his arm down to pillow my head on, shifting to accommodate me as I sprawled out beside him. There was a manic grin on my lips that I couldn't erase.

"I suppose it would be really inappropriate for the President of Esthar to have his son's name tattooed anywhere?" I inquired lightly a minute later.

"Laguna," Squall said evenly without stirring, "if you do, I'll ship you back to Esthar. In pieces. And I'm not joking about _that_ either."

I chuckled, the laughter bubbling up irrepressibly. "Alright, no names. What about a little heart?"

"Laguna..." It was the warning tone he used to strike fear into the junior classes, but I wasn't that easily intimidated.

"A little heart worked into the middle of a tiny SeeD insignia?" I offered. "On my thigh. Nobody but you would see it."

"Laguna!"


	3. Would You? Could You?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...on a train? The offer has consequences.

Squall sank into the seat with a low exhale of breath, wincing slightly. He was already moving again by the time I dropped into the seat beside him, hips arching up off the vinyl as he fumbled at his belt, pulling the heavy leather open with a jangle of buckles.

"Hurts?" I asked quietly, my fingertips lingering against his leather clad hip.

"A bit," he replied shortly. His skin was vividly red, flushed like a sunburn all around the thick black marks. The center, curving gracefully around his navel, was just visible above the line of his waistband, the dark half circle sweeping up under his shirt in a long, smooth line. It drew the gaze like a magnet, framed between white cotton and black leather, and I hadn't been able to tear my eyes away. It was beautiful.

Relieved of the bite of his belt buckle against the abused skin, Squall settled back again, shoulder pressed to the window. The Dollet-Balamb train was a public commuter type and in the early afternoon it was still fairly empty. There were a few other passengers, business folk, and I could hear the click and clatter of someone typing on a laptop from up in the front of the car and the subdued sounds of the station outside.

Squall leaned his head against the window glass, wincing again and shifting the weight of his hips around. "You should have worn something looser," I chided gently. My suggestion of it that morning had gone unheeded. He shot me a glare, lips pressed shut, and said nothing.

It's probably a good thing I didn't actually raise him. Beyond the obvious reasons, I mean. I have a feeling his early teen-age years might have been the death of us both.

Squall shifted again, trying to find a position that was comfortable. Finally, with a little frustrated snarl, he lifted his hips back up and pulled open the topmost button of his pants.

"Squall!" I hissed.

"What?" he said. "Damn thing pinches." Another two buttons came undone and he sank back down with a relieved sigh.

I made an incoherent sort of noise, my eyes huge. The leather gaped wide across his hips, framing the bottom half of the flushed tattoo and a positively indecent amount of skin, providing ample evidence of just what he _wasn't_ wearing underneath. "Squall!" I hissed again. The sound of the other passengers at the front of the car, the clatter of typing and the rustle of pages turning, suddenly seemed exponentially louder.

He just looked at me, cool and infuriating and sprawled in the seat like a picturesque centerfold. "What?" he asked again.

"You know 'what'," I whispered, aghast. If I had had a coat I would have thrown it over him, but the day was warm and neither of us had worn one.

He shrugged. Glancing down, he stretched slightly, one hand slipping under his shirt to tug the edge of it up and display the full design. "They did a good job."

I made another noise and reached out to tug his shirt back down. He caught my wrist, tugging my hand forward to press it to his stomach. His skin was hot to the touch, slick with oil they had put on it.

He closed his eyes, making a little sound deep in his throat. "Feels better when you're touching it," he whispered.

I made another small choked noise, my throat going dry. Under my palm I could feel his muscles loose their tension and he sighed again, a tiny pleased noise.

Gingerly, far too aware of just how it would look to an observer, I gently pressed my hand to the thickest part of the design. Squall let his head fall back against the seat, relaxing. "S'nice," he murmured.

I was barely breathing for more reasons then I felt like counting. I trailed a trembling fingertip along one of the lines where it arched out towards his hip. "It's beautiful."

Squall made a wordless type of sound. "I like your hands on me," he said, mercifully dropping his voice. "Your hands, your eyes..."

I swallowed dryly. He had been hours under the needle and it had been worth every minute of it, the hot tension wracked so tight down my spine and through my thighs that I couldn't move. He hadn't made a sound through any of it, his eyes closed, head tilted back against my chest. Only his hands, curved around my wrists while I pressed mine to his chest, had occasionally moved.

It had been the most fucking incredible thing I had ever sat through.

Squall shifted in his seat, stretching, the motion accidentally slipping my hand lower. "All I could think of was you," he breathed, and his tone alone set my pulse speeding with a nervous jolt. I knew that tone too well. He half opened his eyes, looking up from under the fringe of his lashes, and there wasn't a trace of smile anywhere on his lips as he slid the tip of his tongue across them. "You watching, you touching me... gods, that was so fucking _hot_..."

My lungs were frozen, my breath squeaking in my chest. "Squall... dammit..."

His whisper cut across mine, smooth and dark, pitched for my ears alone. "Wanted you so bad... I was so damn hard the whole time..."

"You're going to be the death of me," I hissed softly through frozen lips, jerking my hand back.

He caught my wrist, holding me in place, his fingertips trailing up the inside of my arm. "You know what the best cure for pain is?"

"I'm not listening," I warned him through gritted teeth. "I am _not_ hearing this."

But he had leaned in, his shoulder against mine, the whisper brushing my hair in hot puffs of breath and my traitorous body was no more listening to my verbal warnings then he was. "Endorphins," Squall breathed softly. "Arousal... orgasm... it floods your brain with endorphins. Shuts down your mind's reception of pain signals. Natural analgesic."

I was certain my face was a shade of red not usually found in nature. "Behave!" I whispered back breathlessly. "Dammit... Squall, button those back up and _behave_! When we get back to Garden..."

He said nothing for a minute and I wondered if I had actually won the battle. Except that he wasn't letting go of my wrist, my palm cupped across heated skin and cool leather that I could feel like a shock up my bones, my fingers tingling. I swallowed hard and tried another tact. "If this ends up on the cover of a tabloid..."

Squall chuckled softly. "It would look worse for me then you," he said. "'Commander accepts sexual favors in payment for SeeD assistance in Esthar'... the Headmaster would have a apoplectic fit."

"Exactly!" I said hastily. "So let... go..." I tugged, but in a test of sheer hand to hand strength with no other leverage he had me beat.

"Laguna," he whispered and his breath was on my throat, sending shivers down my spine to linger warm and hot in already primed nerves. I closed my eyes, trying valiantly to pull myself together.

"For gods sake... this is a _public_ train-"

"Empty," he interrupted, unconcerned.

"Not entirely!" I gasped. "Dammit... you did _not_ inherit an exhibitionist streak from _me_!"

His lips were just touching the skin beneath my ear, warm and soft, his smile curving them. "Would Raine have tried to do you in public?"

"No!" I protested, strangled. "But you got it from her side of the family, I'm sure of it..."

His free hand brushed my hip, sliding in slow motion down my thigh. I bit back a gasp. "Doesn't it excite you even a little?" he asked.

"No," I lied. Badly. And he knew it; the evidence was all too apparent under his hand and I was having to shift uncomfortably.

Squall's lips pressed a light kiss to my throat, the warm tip of a wet tongue brushing across my pulse. "Laguna," he whispered again and his voice was low and throaty, vibrating through me. "Want you..."

I couldn't seem to breathe right and it was scorchingly hot in the train car. Old things with broken air conditioners, I thought vaguely. There was sweat down the back of my shirt, sticking to the seat. Squall's lips were still on my throat with a gentle, languid suction that was pouring fire down my nerves. "Please..." His whisper was soft and husky and deep with need.

I swallowed hard, keeping my eyes locked firmly on the seat back in front of me. My answering whisper, when I forced it out, cracked slightly. "How quiet can you be?"

I didn't need to see his smile. "You're the one who yells," he reminded me, his fingers tugging at my belt.

I knocked his hand away, half twisting around. When I pulled my wrist away from his grasp he didn't stop me. "I'm not the one who needs to worry about it," I told him firmly. Any answer he might have made was lost in a deep, indrawn hiss of breath as I unfastened the last two buttons.

He is so right to the touch, all silk and heat and the smooth slide of skin. Squall made the smallest of noises as I freed him, his head falling back against the seat as he closed his eyes. I had to work hard to control my own breathing as I tentatively slid my hand up the hard length of him; this was sheer insanity, the sun streaming through the window, the sound of a cough and the shuffle of feet echoing from the front of the car, but with him hard and straining against my palm I doubted I had the self control to call it off.

Squall half lifted his hips, hampered by the angle of the seat. His hand came down on mine, pressing hard, and there was a shiver in his fingers. "Fast," he hissed brokenly. "Gods..."

He was already close to the edge, flushed and tense, the muscles trembling through his thighs. I stroked upward again, just hard enough and no where near as hard as he wanted. Squall bit back a noise, one hand bruising against my thigh, the other fumbling to catch and clench on the armrest.

He had a point. There was something horribly exciting about it all.

I circled the slick head of his erection with a fingertip, listening to his breath hiss between his clenched teeth as his hips moved restlessly. Any other time I would have held him like that for as long as he could physically stand it; ready and wanting and just not _quite_ there and so gorgeous as he panted, his eyes closed, lost in it all. Any other place I would have taken the time to enjoy it. But the little panicked voice in the back of my mind wouldn't entirely shut up; call it a survival instinct.

Squall opened his mouth, breath exhaling in a gasp as I tightened my grip and slid, base to crown and back again. His teeth were clenched, lips cupped in an 'oh' as he struggled to keep his breaths deep and even and soundless, a counterpoint rhythm to the stroke of my hand against him,

Unreal. Not four yards from us were other people, complete strangers, minding their own business and completely oblivious to what was going on behind them. Utterly oblivious to the little silent breathy cries Squall was biting back, lip caught between his teeth, or the slick, hot feel of him in my hand, or the sunlight warm across his belly and the gorgeous lines traced there. It was mind blowing, and if I thought about it too hard I was going to loose any coherency.

And then the little background noises I was half listening to, the typing and the papers and the occasional soft voices, were interrupted by the louder, more immediate clatter of the door at the front of the car opening and someone entering, their footsteps coming down the center aisle.

You know that old saying about your life flashing before your eyes in moments of extreme stress?

It really _does_.

Squall was trembling beneath my hands, on the knife edge of tumbling over. I took a deep breath and raised my free hand, cupping it hard across his mouth and felt him jerk in surprise. There was the blessed sound of voices, the footsteps pausing as someone asked a question and someone answered. I let the breath out, my lungs tight, and leaned over to slide my lips around the head of Squall's straining erection.

My hand muffled the choked sound he made, his body twisted, hips thrusting up. The taste of him, salt and musk, flooded heavy across my tongue in a hot wash as he trembled and his teeth were sunk into my palm. I swallowed hard.

Six frantic racing heartbeats later - I was counting - I dared to take my hand off his mouth. I probably hurt him getting buttons into some semblance of refastened - I heard his panting breaths catch several times - and his belt was still undone... hell, someone his age, maybe it could pass as a fashion statement? What did I know?

I knew the taste of him was all over the inside my mouth, _that_ was what I knew. I knew he was flushed and breathing hard and sprawled limp in the seat, his eyes dark and heavy lidded under disarrayed hair, his shirt still rucked up a little across his stomach. Never mind an undone belt - I'm not sure a full change of clothes would have helped.

There were horrific visions of tabloid covers dancing through my mind.

"Excuse me, sir?"

I lost years off my life in that instant. Cringing, I twisted back around in my seat. An older woman was standing in the aisle, iron gray hair drawn back beneath the dark cap of a train conductor. She smiled slightly; my panicked expression was probably humorous.

"I'm sorry," she said politely. "I didn't mean to startle you. I just need to see your tickets."

My heart was pounding so loud it nearly drowned her out and I couldn't begin to bring her words into some semblance of meaning. I stared, blankly, until Squall's elbow nudged my side. "Pocket," he breathed. His chin was dropped down to his chest, eyes closed in a creditable imitation of sleep.

"Oh! Oh, of course... I'm sorry..." I was babbling, a nervous grin plastered across my face as I half stood, fumbling around in my back pocket for the tickets I had shoved there earlier. The woman was patient about it, smiling with me as I rattled on about the weather and Dollet and anything else I could think of. She took the crumpled tickets I produced and tore off the stubs at the end, handing them back with a polite "Thank you, enjoy your ride," and continued on her way to the next car without a backwards glance.

I collapsed back into the seat, daring to breathe again. "Oh gods... oh Hyne... fuck..." My heart was racing so hard it hurt, my hands shaking. I was covered in cold sweat and almost dizzy with the adrenaline.

Warm fingers caught my chin, turning me to face Squall. His thumb brushed along my lower lip, his eyes bright. "That," he said softly, "was insane."

I was trying to find words to whole heartedly agree when his mouth closed hard over mine, the kiss stealing my breath away. He tongue trailed across my lips when he drew away, a lingering caress full of promise. "I owe you," he whispered.

It took a minute for me to regain my breath. "Damn right you do," I told him. "Fuck..."

His small smile was pure devil, one dark brow arching up in mute challenge. "We could."

"No!" I squeaked. "You really _are_ going to be the death of me... Here..." I pushed him away, shifting us both around, then drew him back so that he was resting against my side, his head pillowed against my shoulder. "Just... just sit. Behave."

It wasn't a smile, not really. It was a smirk. "And if I don't?"

"I..." What was I supposed to threaten him with? I sighed, running a hand over his hair. "I would say I'd beat you, but I'm half tempted to do that anyways," I snapped a bit peevishly. "When we get back to Balamb..."

Squall reached up, his fingertips running gently across my lips to silence me. "When we get back to Garden," he said, "I'll make it up to you." A small pause, his other hand tugging mine down to twine our fingers together, his voice rich with promises. "Any way you want."

"Any?" I queried. I pretended to consider. "So if I said I wanted to do this again... say, on the Headmaster's desk one afternoon..."

Squall's breath caught, resuming slightly faster. "Like hell I didn't inherit it from you," he accused.

I used my free hand to pat the top of his head, a gesture he pushed away irritably. "No," I corrected. "I think _I_ inherited it from _you_."


	4. Waiting by the Phone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Squall is out on a mission, Laguna worries.

It never really occurred to me, when I was younger, just how hard it must be for the family left behind. It's one thing when you're the one going off to war - there's so much to do, you're so focused on your mission, you don't really stop to _think_. You just do it. And of course you're going to come back. That's how it works.

But if you're the one left behind, watching someone else go... there's nothing to do _but_ think. Sit and think and imagine everything that could go wrong. Every worry turns into a towering mountain of anxiety and when I know he's out in the field, out there on a mission... there isn't a single hour I don't think of it and wonder if the next time the phone rings it's going to be the call I don't want to take. If it's going to be the one where they tell me I might want to be sitting down because they have some bad news for me.

I don't know what the life expectancy of a SeeD is - I'm not sure they know - but I'm pretty damn sure it's less than the life expectancy of someone doing a nice comfortable office job, even if I do have twice his years on me.

It's his life. It's what he's trained for, what he does, as natural as he breaths air. I can't tell him to stop; I don't have that right. And he's _good_ at it, there's no denying that. Maybe he'll live to retire.

Or maybe that damn phone will ring and it'll be Quistis or Selphie or Zell or one of his other friends, a little choked up but all business-like because to them this is just the facts of their young lives. And I'll have to listen to those words, all the ones I don't want to ever hear.

Every time he leaves on a mission, I have to face the fact that in all likelihood, someday I will be burying my own son.

What the hell am I supposed to do then?

Kiros cheerfully tells me that it's far more likely I'm going to keel over from a heart attack while sitting at my desk one of these days. It's a nice thought.

I try to tell myself I'm being silly. I've already seen him go up against the worst threat any of us could imagine, and he came through that alright. But that's the problem, you see. He's damn near a hero. And real heroes don't get the fairy tale happily ever afters in the sunset - real heroes leave a legacy behind them and go out with a blaze before the history books can record them having to retire from old age. Real heroes just keep going until they run into something and can't go any more, and by then it's too late.

He sure as hell didn't inherit it from me.

He called me two days ago. I've never told him I worry - it'd just make him uncomfortable - but he's dutiful about telling me when he's leaving and when he gets back so I know not to try to call in the interim. So he called, just to tell me shortly that he would be out, some routine sort of terrorist action in Galbadia to clean up. He'd call again when he got back. He sounded completely unconcerned, almost bored, but I know he was itching to go - too much administrative desk work makes him restless until he's climbing the walls.

All told, it was a five sentence conversation. No long, tearful goodbyes. No loving wishes. No concern. Just business-like, telling me the facts and signing off. I wonder sometimes if, in his own way, he's trying to tell me not to worry... like, if he's not worried, than I shouldn't be either.

Which is all well and good for him. He's out there doing something. I'm stuck behind a desk, staring at a report on a screen that I've been paging through without reading a single word of for hours, and nothing but all those worrisome anxious little thoughts careening full tilt through my head. What if he gets hurt? No, that's not even a 'what if'. That should be 'how badly is he going to get hurt'? Something he can just shrug off? Or something that might keep him from active duty for awhile? Or worse? How many are they up against? What's happening out there?

I counted nine new white hairs in the mirror this morning. The boy is going to make me _old_.

When the phone does sound it takes me a ring before I can make myself move. It's my private line - probably Kiros wanting to know if I'm ready to take lunch, or if the report is done and what's taking me so long. Outside of him and Ward there's only a handful of people with access to that line.

Nonetheless, I reach over and toggle the ID with one finger, feeling my stomach knotted up somewhere under my ribs.

_::INCOMING CALL::_ the little screen flashes at me. _::BALAMB G SECURITY ENCODING::_

And now my heart is up in my throat and it's not beating right and the tightness in my chest is painful. Maybe Kiros is right. Maybe I am just going to have a heart attack, and wouldn't that be ironic?

I swallow it down and make myself pick up the receiver, my voice as steady as I can force it to be. "Laguna here."

"Hi Laguna!" It's Selphie's voice, and she doesn't sound at all upset. If anything was wrong she would, wouldn't she?

There's a commotion in the background on her end of the line, the only words of which I catch are something which sounds like "goddamn phone" in a male voice. Selphie's voice in reply is a little more distant as she turns away from the pickup, but she's yelling and I can make it out clearly. She sounds almost frighteningly authoritative, for her. "Put that down or I'm telling Kadowaki!"

Kadowaki. That's Balamb Garden's head physician, a blunt spoken older woman. Which means something _is_ wrong and I'm gripping the receiver so tight my fingers hurt. "Selphie? What's going on?"

"Would you just give me the damn phone?" It's Squall's voice, irritated and angry sounding, but alive. I could cry. There's more background noise and the sharp sound of the receiver being dropped and then Squall's voice returns. "Laguna? Still there?"

"Yes!" He sounds gruff and disgusted and it's the most wonderful sound I've ever heard. I blink hard, trying to keep from sounding too breathless. "You're back?"

"Yeah." He sounds angry about it. "Irvine and Quistis are taking care of the rest of it."

Which means whatever they were doing wasn't actually done with yet, and what in gods' name could make Squall come back before then? "What's wrong?" I blurt out, the hard cold knot in my stomach trying to reform itself.

"Nothing. Everything's fine," Squall says.

"But Selphie said something about the doctor... are you hurt?" I'm babbling but I can't seem to help it. I need to hear him keep talking. I need to know he's alright.

Squall makes an exasperated noise. "I'm _fine_," he says firmly.

"But..."

He sighs, annoyed. "Selphie talks too much. I'm fine." There's a pause as I bite my tongue to try to keep from saying any more and when he speaks again his tone is disgusted. "Fucking land mine. I took a piece of shrapnel through the hand. We couldn't use curaga, some of the bones were shattered. I had to come back to Garden to get it set."

I let out the breath I hadn't been aware of holding. "But you're alright now?"

"Yes, I'm fine. We just didn't have the equipment on the field to do it right." There was another commotion on his end and Squall's voice was muffled. "I _know_. She was talking about using a gunblade, Selphie, not about picking up the fucking phone!"

He hates being fussed over. I'm almost giddy with relief. His voice comes back to the line and I can easily imagine the look on his face. "I've gotta go. Just wanted you to know I was back."

"Thank you," I say. My voice is a little choked and I'm sure he can hear it. "I'm glad you're alright."

There's a small pause but I can hear his breath against the receiver. "Thanks," he says at last, a little awkward.

"Squall..." I hesitate, unsure of what to say or what he'll put up with me saying. So many things, but it's easier to leave them unsaid, where we both know it but don't have to talk about it. I swallow, closing my eyes, the phone receiver cradled cool and smooth against my cheek. "Love you."

There's a longer pause then, until I start to draw breath to tell him he doesn't need to say anything, I don't expect it. But his voice interrupts me and now he doesn't sound entirely steady, a little rougher and shakier than before. "Yeah," he says softly. "I'll talk to you later." There's a click as he hangs up and the hum of the empty line.

He's alive. He's alright. I can breath a sigh of relief, the anxiety fading away once more. Right now, he's alright.

And as I reach to hang up the phone I have to wonder what, at the end, he might have said if Selphie hadn't been there listening. The thought makes me smile.


	5. Breakfast in Bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A surprise morning on a half forgotten holiday.

It was the smell - dark roast, fresh, hot and steaming - that finally worked its way through the sleep soaked depths of my mind to push me into waking.

There are few things as pleasant to wake up to as the smell of just brewed coffee. Assuming you drink it, of course - personally, I can't see how anyone survives without it. They could just feed it intravenously straight into my veins, I wouldn't mind.

Better than waking up to coffee was waking up to _him_ bringing me coffee in bed; he had one steaming mug in each hand as his weight dipped the mattress at my side. I peeled my eyes open and yawned, rolling onto my back to stretch. Morning sunlight was streaming through the windows to pool warm across the floor and glimmer sapphire blue off of raw silk - my robe, loosely belted and sliding off of his shoulders as he leaned over me. Just the fact that he had borrowed it made me smile. "Mmmm. Morning."

When Squall smiles - really smiles, not just a curt gesture to placate the public - it's with his eyes. His lips may or may not be involved but his eyes light up, little sky blue flickers in cloudy gray and the faintest upward curve at the edges of thick dark lashes. It's beautiful and I don't think I'll ever grow tired of it. "Here," was all he said, short and curt as he pressed a mug into my eager hands, but his eyes were warm and happy.

I had all but dragged him, kicking and screaming... alright, silent, sullen and stubborn was a better description... on vacation. Now, a week and a half later, he still made a point of complaining about it at least once a day. But even he had to admit it was good for him. The quiet smiles alone were worth it.

"Cream," he informed me bluntly as he settled back against the pillows at the head of the bed, his own mug cradled between his fingers. "Two sugars."

I blinked. I was in the middle of trying to extricate myself from the knot the covers had somehow gotten into and struggle up enough to manage to drink without either scalding or drowning myself. Sure enough, when I looked, the contents of the mug I was holding were a warm tan color with a sweet smell to it. I had been expecting black; it's how he drinks it, and the niceties of cream or sugar or the idea that anyone would want them diluting the strongest brew he can get his hands on tends to escape him.

Squall met my gaze with a wry look, which told me the expression on my face must be amusing as all hells. "That's how you take it, isn't it?"

It's difficult to collect any amount of dignity when you're tangled up in blankets and trying not to spill your coffee. I gave up in favor of getting one shoulder braced against the head of the bed and taking a long drink. Hot without being burning, smooth with just a touch of sweet, and I could feel the kick of it as it cleared away the cobwebs draped around my mind. "You're a saint," I sighed gratefully. "Thank you."

He made a scoffing sound. A long armed reach off the side of the bed produced a plate, which he set on the covers between us. "Got you these too."

Puff pastries, lightly golden brown and dusted with powdered sugar, warm chocolate creme oozing out the corners. Obviously I had died in my sleep and this was heaven. Not a shabby job of it either.

I had one of the things halfway to my mouth, my fingers sticky with chocolate and sugar, when rational thought caught up to me. "But... You hate these," I blurted out, half accusing. How anyone could not like chocolate was completely beyond me, but he claimed it gave him hives.

Squall had his face bent over his mug, loose hair trailing into his eyes. "You like them," he told me, as though that was supposed to clear it all up.

The thoughts weren't quite connecting right in my head. Coffee. And breakfast. He'd brought me coffee and breakfast in bed, and not just anything but specifically the things I liked. When his usual morning routine was to be up, showered, dressed, eaten and some obscene amount of exercise, hours before I ever opened my eyes.

And instead here it was, indulgently late in the morning by his standards, him still slumming about in my robe, bringing me coffee and breakfast.

Either something was very very wrong and he was going to try to break it to me gently, or there was some anniversary of something that I had completely forgotten. I methodically ate the pastry I was holding while I hurriedly wracked my mind to figure out what I was missing.

He waited until I was licking my fingers clean before shifting to fumble around in the pocket of the robe. I had no idea what to expect but the last thing I would have guessed was a box - tiny, fitting easily into his palm, wrapped neatly in bright silver paper with a little cream colored bow set on top. He held it out to me without a word, waiting for me to take it.

Whatever expression I had woken up with, it was nothing compared to the one on my face now. Squall's own expression was a mask, not an emotion flickering across it, but his eyes wouldn't quite meet mine. When I didn't move he pressed the box into my hand, closing my fingers around it.

"It's for you," he told me, a touch exasperated.

Which left me utterly bemused and staring at the thing. "Breakfast," I uttered aloud, giving voice to the first thought in my head, "and presents? Squall, it's not my birthday."

He took the mostly empty mug from my other hand and busied himself with putting the cups on the bedside table, out of the way. I couldn't see his face at all. "I know that."

I turned the box over in my hands. "But..."

When he turned back around the mask had slipped. He wouldn't meet my eyes and the faintest of pink flushes was high on his cheekbones. "I..." but he broke off, clearing his throat. He reached out, his fingertips warm on my cheek, then leaned forward. His mouth brushed mine, lightly, then harder, with the taste of dark coffee and sweet sugar between our tongues.

His voice was embarrassed and breathless, whispered against my lips. "Happy Father's day."

When he drew away my mouth was hanging open and my mind had gone perfectly blank. The subconscious calendar in my head informed me, accurately, of the day of the week and month but by the Esthar calendar there was nothing particularly special about it beyond it being the one day out of the week when I didn't have work to do. The holiday he had named was a Galbadian custom and not one I'd thought about since... well, since I was younger than he was.

But Balamb uses the Galbadian calendar for the most part, and he had remembered. He had actually remembered.

And the man who didn't like to celebrate even his own birthday had brought me breakfast and presents.

When I didn't say anything he started to turn away, the flush darkening. I hastily pulled myself back together and reached out, grabbing his sleeve. When I sat up it dumped powdered sugar and chocolate all over the pillows but I couldn't have cared less; he was tense in my arms and he smelled of soap and coffee, the underside of the hair at the nape of his neck still damp from where he must have showered earlier. I pulled him close and buried my face in the scent of him, feeling the sting of giddy tears in my eyes. "Love you," I told him, as breathless as he had been, holding him tight.

It took three heartbeats, thundering through my chest, before he relaxed. His hands came up to tangle in my hair and he leaned into the embrace, his voice breathed against my neck as he rolled the word across his tongue, tasting it, trying it out. "Father."

I had to close my eyes and try to breathe around the sudden lump in my throat. He hadn't ever said it. Not once, not to me. The sound of it, on his lips, in his voice, brought a pang to my chest that ached. "Squall," I whispered. And then, small and pleading, "Again? Please?"

Squall stiffened some, drawing away. His hands were warm and dry against my cheeks, holding me there. His eyes, when I opened my own, were dark and unreadable, the flush still lingering on his skin. His lips brushed my forehead, trailing lightly down the bridge of my nose. His eyes never left mine and when he drew breath I found I couldn't make my lungs work for the life of me. "Father," he said softly, deliberately, each distinct sound brushed against my mouth.

I was trembling. His thumb stroked across my cheek, brushing away tears I hadn't even been aware of. "Does it mean so much to you, to hear it?" he asked quietly.

I managed to draw a shuddering breath. "I don't know," I admitted. "You've never... we..."

"Shh." He pulled me close again, one firm hand tucking my head against his shoulder. "Laguna..." Squall sighed, the sound ruffling my hair. "It's just a word."

"I know," I muttered, my lips pressed to warm silk and hard muscle beneath it. "I know." Just a word, and a DNA test that he had insisted upon, and a few pieces of legal paper stored securely away in the event anything happened to either of us. Just that, nothing more. I hadn't ever even seen any childhood photos of him and my imagination failed miserably at trying to imagine the sober faced young man that he was as a bright eyed boy. Just a word. Just a silly holiday. "I'm sorry."

He didn't say anything but his arms tightened around me. I leaned into it, letting the familiarity of it ease the ache in my chest. Silly, I told myself firmly. Stupid and silly.

Squall's chin was resting against the top of my head, his voice a rumble that I could feel as well as hear. "Father." Lightly, just testing the sound again, like a new taste that he wasn't sure if he liked or not. And then, letting me hear the grin in his voice, "Dad."

If I was being truly honest I would admit that on some level, it just made me cringe. It didn't sound real. I wasn't cut from the right material to be anyone's 'dad'. Uncle, maybe. But... father?

I was going to start either crying or laughing hysterically. Trying to stave off both, I went for a tone of joking disbelief. "'Dad'? Don't. That sounds so... so..." I faltered, groping for the right word.

"Don't bother saying 'undignified'," he told me dryly. "You've never had any dignity."

"...kinky," I finished challengingly, latching onto the first word that came to mind. "I mean, all things considered."

It was a feeble joke and I thought he would let it slide; our senses of humor don't match very often and the best thing we can both do is just ignore the other's occasional quips. But then he drew a breath and I knew - I just knew - that I had well and truly set myself up for it.

It was low and just a little husky, breathed warm against my skin like a promise. "Daddy."

"Squall!" I got us untangled faster than I would have thought possible, clapping the hand that wasn't still clutching the little box over his mouth. "Don't you dare," I told him firmly. "Don't. Just... just don't." One of his brows was arched up in a blatant challenge and I kept my hand pressed hard over his mouth. "Absolutely not."

Squall caught my wrist and pushed my hand away, the amused smile in both his eyes and lips now. "A little too kinky?"

"Definitely," I avowed. "The less said, the better."

"Not a fantasy you ever wanted to try?" he inquired a little too lightly. My heart was somewhere up in my throat and down in the pit of my stomach simultaneously.

"No. Never."

He didn't say anything. Catching my other wrist, he took the present from my hand, carefully straightening the crumpled bow before putting it back in my palm. "You're supposed to open it, you know," he told me pointedly.

I blinked at him, then down at the box. "Oh! Right..." that was certainly safer ground. I let myself breathe and tried to collect myself back together. Tucking my feet under my knees, I pulled the covers up across my lap and set to work at the seams of the paper.

He watched me for a minute, bemused. "I would have thought you'd just rip it."

"You went to all the trouble of wrapping it," I told him seriously. "I'm not going to just rip it open." Tape gave way under my fingernails and a small white box slid out from the wrapping paper. I hesitated a moment before lifting the top off. What were father's supposed to get on father's day? Cufflinks? Tie tacks? You could even fit a whole tie in the box if it was silk and you folded it up neat - and Squall was nothing if not neat.

Hells, it didn't matter. He'd gotten it for me and that was more than enough. I lifted up the cover and folded back a thin layer of tissue to bare the contents.

For a moment I thought it just might be a tie tack. Small against the white tissue, it winked up at me, about the size of my thumbnail. It took a heartbeat to realize that I had seen it before, or its twin, gleaming silver against the dark collar of Squall's formal SeeD uniform.

He was waiting for my reaction, looking rather pleased with himself. When I glanced up he smiled slightly. "Honorary," he explained, pointing to the little pin. "I cleared it with the Headmaster. There's no rank attached to it, but your name is in the roster."

I blinked again. "Honorary?" I repeated. The tiny insignia was heavier than I had guessed, solid to the touch, with a straight stud and fastener at the back. "You mean... you made me an honorary SeeD?"

Squall was flushing again, embarrassed. "It's just a formality." He reached out, taking the pin from me and turning it over to show me the black back of it. "Look, it works just like all of them. You're cleared for the whole Garden... well, you'll have to get voice coding to get to the bridge, but we can record that the next time you come visit."

His words weren't making a lot of sense but I managed to grasp the gist of it. "It's a key!"

He rolled his eyes. "It's a transponder. Limited range, just within the Garden itself. They're keyed for different security clearance - cadets aren't allowed on the administrative level without special admission and non-essential personnel aren't allowed on the bridge." I was just looking at him, a rather silly grin on my face, and he sighed and gave the pin back to me. "Yes. It's a key. And this way I don't have to clear you for the elevators every damn time. Just don't lose it and remember to wear it."

The sheer tickled delight of it all was bubbling up inside me. "Yes, sir!"

Squall, looking pained, caught my wrist before I could attempt an admittedly very sloppy salute. "Don't bother. You outrank me."

"I do?" Startled, I stopped examining the little insignia for a moment. "But I thought you said it was honorary."

"It is," he said, mock exasperated. "But in case you've forgotten, you're the President of Esthar. I'm a military commander. You outrank me."

"Oh. Well, when you put it like that..." I put the pin back in the box and stretched across the mess of sugar and pastries and pillows to put it on the bedside table. "Then I suppose you're just supposed to follow orders if I mention we're going to need to strip the bedding."

"You've also got a cleaning staff," Squall pointed out.

I grinned at him. "So you want the staff wondering what we were doing that got chocolate and sugar all over the bed?"

The sigh was more heartfelt that time. "Next year, we're skipping the entire breakfast part."

"Next year..." That was actually a rather sobering thought. I hesitated, then finally gestured around at all of it, the bed and us and the box and the mugs. "Why?"

He looked away for a long moment. "Because," he said at last, quieter, "you are. My father." He paused, the next word coming slowly. "Family. Maybe we should remember it, just for one day."

"Squall..." I was starting to tear up again. He reached out, one fingertip pressing gently against my lips in a light caress.

"Say it," he suggested softly.

Three letters. One syllable. Who knew they were so hard to say? I had to swallow twice before I could get the word off my tongue, my voice cracking. "Son."

His expression didn't change but his eyes looked thoughtful. Squall leaned forward and we were in each others arms again, his cheek pressed against mine. "Father." It felt like a kind of closure, a still moment of glimpsing something we wouldn't ever really have.

Squall's voice was light and amused against my ear. "A psychologist could retire off of us, you know."

"Don't remind me," I told him, and the moment was gone, whisked away into the past where it belonged, and it was only Squall, warm and solid in my arms, his calloused fingertips sliding against my bare back. "I do quite well not thinking about it too seriously."

He made a soft noise, pressing a lingering kiss against my throat. "No pet names? No screaming 'daddy' in the middle of..."

"You _don't _scream," I interrupted hastily, giving his side a hard pinch. "And if you did that... you'd be sleeping on the couch."

I could feel the curve of Squall's smile against my shoulder. "The couch in your office is pretty comfortable."

"Of course it is. Why do you think it's in there?" I pulled back far enough to look into his face. "Squall... all of it aside... I _do_ love you."

The teasing smile faded, leaving only the one that glimmered, deep and happy, in his eyes. "Love you," he echoed softly and when our lips touched I swear I could taste the words, there on his tongue, like the sweetest thing I had ever known.


	6. Worth a Thousand Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Laguna's closest friends have a bit to say on the matter.

"So," Kiros asked me once, over lunch, "is the sex actually that good?"

I could have died. I could have just fucking died of embarrassment, sunk straight through the floor and kept on going. My face was so hot it hurt and I choked on my last bite until he had to reach across the table and thump my back to get me to breathe. And him looking casual and innocent the whole damn time.

Don't _ever_ buy that act. That whole suave, elegant, exotic look and the butter won't melt in his mouth routine. Kiros has a tongue like hot drops of acid thrown on you once he's set off and I've been on the receiving end of that often enough to know.

Like now. For _months_. I had been hoping I might finally be off the hook - the endless jabs and arguing and sarcasm had finally trickled away and we had almost gotten back to normal and I had _hoped_... until he brought it up again. In the middle of a restaurant during the lunchtime rush. While I was trying to eat.

He pounded my back while I coughed. If anyone was too concerned that the President was possibly choking to death over his lunch you couldn't have told it by me. When I could breathe again my first gasp was, rather understandably, "Gods damn it!"

Kiros shook his head, leaning back in his seat. "Don't be so touchy. I'm serious. I want to know what the hells has been going through your head."

"According to you, three weeks ago, absolutely nothing," I snapped. "Don't tell me you all of a sudden had a change of heart and approve."

"Fine," he shot back. "I won't, because I don't. But give me some credit, Laguna. Let me hear your side of it."

"I don't know why I should," I replied sourly. "You've already made up your mind."

"And your speciality is changing people's minds," he responded mildly. "So do your best. Change mine. Make me understand." His smile might charm everyone else but I've known him too long to let that smooth look get to me, not when he's ticking points off on his fingers like sliding bullets in a clip. "Why? Because I've been at your side longer than he's been alive. Because I stood witness at your fucking wedding, old man. And because if I fall over of a heart attack tomorrow I want to be able to face Raine in the afterlife and try to explain to her why her former husband is in bed with her son. That's why."

"You're not going to have a heart attack," I growled, "because the gods aren't that nice to me."

"And I'm in better shape than you are," he added, then sighed. "You owe me, Laguna. If not for anything before then because I haven't said a word while he's visiting. Not one fucking word. For that alone you damn well _owe_ me."

I shoved my plate away; the food was suddenly no longer half as appetizing as it had been. "You know, Ward took this a hell of a lot better than you have."

"Ward," Kiros replied, "is very good at ignoring things he doesn't want to think about too closely. Now _talk_, Laguna. I'm all ears."

"You're all _something_, that's for sure," I hissed across the table. "Why the hells ask me _now_? Why not months ago? And why," I added, trying to keep my voice down, "like _that_? I can not fucking believe you actually asked..." but I broke off because the corner of Kiros' mouth was twitching in a dead give away. Swearing, I picked a crouton out of my salad and threw it at him. "Fuck you."

"Your dance card is a little busy already," he replied dryly, the grin he had been trying to hide breaking through. "You should have seen the look on your face."

"So glad I could provide free entertainment."

"Tst. You're no fun to tease when you're like this." Kiros pushed his own plate away and signaled for a refill of our drinks. "Fine. We'll be serious. _Talk_ to me, Laguna."

"Now?" I demanded but Kiros wasn't going to be swayed. Sighing, I leaned my head back, shaking my hair out of my eyes. "What am I supposed to say? What do you _want_ me to say?"

"Whatever you need to say," he said firmly. The waiter came by with our refills, whisking away the old glasses in quiet efficiency, and Kiros waited until he was gone to rap his knuckles against the tabletop. "Stop spazzing on me, Laguna. I'm not liable to say anything I haven't already said, for Hyne's sake. So explain it to me." His grin, that time, was more heartfelt, startlingly white against dark skin. "Small words, one syllable, just like back in boot camp. Explain to me why you're fucking your own son."

Putting it like that, no matter what tone he used, made me twitch. I covered it up and pretended to consider for a moment. "I don't think we had words for that in boot camp."

Kiros' grin turned wry. "We had plenty, we just didn't use them in real conversation. Now stop getting sidetracked."

"I wasn't..."

"Laguna." The problem with old friends is that they know all of your tricks just as well as you know theirs.

"Fine," I growled. "I already told you. Weeks ago. What else can I say?"

Kiros sighed, that sort of long suffering sound he seems to use most around me. "You can stop acting like a school boy hauled in for detention and _talk_ to me. Why _him_?"

"Because..." Two word question. Very simple. But my mouth stumbled over an answer - any answer - when dozens of them sprang to mind and tangled all together, tripping over my tongue. /Because I need him. Because he needs _me_. Because it's right, because it's good, because it works... Because I didn't mean to, because it was an accident, because it happened before I knew what hit me, because we were both a little drunk... because it started like that but turned into something more.../

Kiros was staring at me, dark eyes steady and level, and I choked on the answer around a tongue that felt too thick in my mouth. "Because I love him."

"Lots of people," Kiros replied evenly, "manage to love their sons without leaving hickies all over their necks. Which," he added, considering, "you might want to stop doing before his vacation is over and he goes back to Balamb. Garden uniforms don't have high collars."

"Kiros!" He waved at me to quiet down, which I had to force myself to do.

"Sorry," he said, and for once he actually sounded like he meant it. "Laguna... I've honestly been trying to understand. But I don't. I don't like it, I don't understand it, and I can't make any sense out of it." Kiros shook his braids back, the beaded ends clattering against the back of his chair. "Doesn't mean I'll say shit, you know that... but if you want me to understand you're going to have to explain it to me so that I can."

He sat there, waiting, and I stared back. The bustle in the restaurant went on around us, voices and the clink of silverware and the rush of sound from the kitchen as waiters went back and forth through the doors. Kiros just looked at me.

And there we sat.

I had to try twice to find my voice, croaking the words out thinly. "I can't." Pushing my chair back, I tossed my napkin down beside my abandoned plate and got to my feet. I could still feel his eyes on me when I walked out.

* * * * *

_/Why him?/_

Hours later and those same two words were still haunting me. I scrawled a note on a page without seeing it, hard enough to make the pen tip spatter blots of ink across the paper that smeared when I swiped my hand across it.

_/I love him./_

My secretary took one look at my face when I walked in after lunch and transferred my line to her own desk in the outer office, fielding my phone calls. I shut the door of my office, rolled up my sleeves, and sat down at the mountain of paperwork that seemed to perpetually occupy the greater majority of my desk.

_/Lots of people love their sons without.../_

My hands went through the motions, note, sign, type, all without much conscious input from my mind. The words were spinning through my head like dust across the salt flats.

_/...without.../_

It isn't right. It isn't any kind of right, and don't think for a moment I don't know it.

_/Make me understand./_

It's none of his business. It's _my_ business, mine and Squall's, and that's it. Period. End of discussion. People can make all of the judgements they want, from the outside looking in, and words alone aren't ever going to really explain it to them.

_/I can't./_

It can't be explained. They're not us and they're not going to understand. What the fuck does Kiros expect me to say?

I love him. Can't that be enough?

_/...without.../_

I don't know any more. I just don't know. All I know is that when we're together, it's _right_.

But I can't fucking explain that. There aren't words for it. How do you put words to feelings? All of the god awful sappy poetry of the world aside... you don't. Not really.

How the hell can I explain it to Kiros when I still don't understand why _he's_ with _me_?

_Fuck_.

It wasn't until the door chime sounded that I realized the light was coming more from my desk lamp than from the windows, the afternoon gone and disappeared into early evening when I wasn't looking. There was a crick in my back that protested - loudly - when I straightened and my fingers were starting to cramp. "Come in!"

I was, I realized, half tensed for round two with Kiros; he has an uncanny knack for knowing how long to let me cool off before starting in again. But the door slid back for Squall and one look at him clicked everything back into place in my head and I had my mouth open, the words tumbling out, before he could even draw breath. "Oh... _fuck_! Squall, I'm sorry, I totally lost track of the time..."

He let the door shut behind him with a half shake of his head and held up a bag. "Relax. Michi said you were busy, so I brought dinner."

"But..." I glanced around my desk as though it might have the answers but all there were was stacks of paper and the chronometer, which was glowing with an accusingly late hour. "I'm _sorry_, we were going to go out..."

"Relax," Squall repeated. "We can go tomorrow. Here, clear a spot..." I hastily dumped one pile of papers onto the top of another, baring enough of my desk's actual surface for Squall to put the sack down. "Barbecue," he volunteered, before I could ask. "From that place you like down by the park." He pulled a container out of the bag and cracked it open, looking inside critically, then passed it to me. "Hot. That one's yours."

"You didn't have to do this," I tried to protest, but the scent of the sauce, sweet and spicy all at once, was filling the office. "Hyne, that smells good. Didn't eat much at lunch."

Squall snagged the chair from the other side of my desk, sliding it around to sit beside me. "Michi mentioned that," he remarked mildly, grabbing the other container and cracking it open. "Said you had lunch with Kiros, came back in a snit."

I almost choked on a piece of extra spiced torama. "My _secretary_ told you that?"

He just shrugged, indicating it should have been obvious. "I asked."

"And she just tells you anything you ask?" I sputtered. "And... wait... since when are you on a first name basis with her?"

"I'm not," Squall replied around a mouthful of his own dinner. "She calls me 'commander'." He swallowed, a grin glinting more in his eyes than on his lips. "Michi has a fondness for candied Galbadian roko fruit and the seasonal ales from the Palesand brewery in Balamb. Both of which I can get a hell of a lot cheaper than she can from the import shops around here."

I blinked. "You're _bribing_ my secretary."

"We have an understanding," Squall said succinctly. "Somebody has to keep an eye on you when I'm not here."

"Squall!"

He tapped my ankle lightly with one booted foot under the desk. "Joking," he assured me. "So what did Kiros want?"

I bit back a groan. "Nothing," I said firmly, putting the container down to rummage around in the bag for a can of soda. Squall just nodded, not pressing, and I sat back with a sigh, retrieving my dinner. "Thank you," I added, belatedly, indicating the food.

"You're welcome," he replied shortly. A minute passed in silence that was broken only by chewing as we both ate, and then he shifted slightly in his seat, his elbow slipping across the bridge of the chair arms to rest against mine.

Subtle. Unspoken. Just a warm presence at my side, silent but there. Comfortable.

I relaxed, letting the entire afternoon and all of the fretful tension of it slide away. Leaning over, I pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. "Thanks," I repeated quietly.

He twisted his head, catching my mouth against his own; spiced hot, grease and sweet soda, all overlaying the brief taste of his tongue against my own. "Welcome," he whispered, and the smile was on his lips, warm and smooth.

/...why?.../

Because I would do anything to make him smile like that. Because I'll never get tired of the taste of him.

Because it's right.

Just that simple, and his smile makes everything right again. I gave in to temptation and licked a smear of sauce off of his cheek, right beside the smooth curve of his smile, and settled back with a smile.

We polished off the rest of the food without talking, Squall finishing his own with habitual haste and tossing it neatly back into the bag. Leaning against my shoulder, he reached out to nudge a stack of papers. "How much more do you need to do?"

I regarded the pile with narrowed eyes as I sucked a splash of sauce off my thumb. "Give me another two hours or so. I've got that cabinet meeting tomorrow and I've been putting it all off..."

Squall made a disparaging sound. "Like you always do." Snagging a page off the top of the stack, he flipped it over to scan through it. "What needs doing? I can forge your signature."

I plucked the paper out of his hand and put it back on the stack. "Squall, there are illiterate toddlers in nomad caravans in the desert who can forge my signature. It's not that hard. And I am _not_ going to subject you to this shit."

"Can't be any worse than the paperwork I do," he replied as he reached for a pen. I grabbed it and tugged it away from him.

"You," I said firmly, "are on vacation. Vacation means _not_ working, especially not on someone else's work. You are not going to read, sign, file, or pick up so much as one piece of this, and that's final." I'm no class instructor - I've heard Squall put fear in the hearts of SeeD cadets with the tone of a single word - but I'm perfectly capable of putting my foot down and keeping it there, in the face of any amount of workaholic enthusiasm.

Squall just stared at me while I glared, but in the end he shrugged and leaned back in his chair. "Stay with you?" he offered.

Smiling, I leaned over to claim another kiss. "If you want. I certainly won't say no." Squall looked startled when I shoved my chair back, standing, and more startled when I shoved a stack of papers into his hands. "Here. Take those over to the couch."

"I thought I wasn't working," he said dryly as he got to his feet.

"You're not working," I clarified, "you're being useful." A quick hunt through my desk turned up two more pens; I scooped them up, along with my laptop, and followed Squall to the small couch shoved against one wall of my office in a sort of pseudo informal sitting area with a chair and low table. It was almost never used for its intended purpose but the couch, I had found, was just about perfect for catching short naps on in the afternoon.

Right then the table, pulled closer to the couch, served for holding the papers while my laptop balanced neatly on the arm of the couch and I was more than capable of signing just about anything against my own thigh with one foot propped up on the table edge. Which, conveniently enough, left plenty of room for Squall to sit next to me, his shoulder resting against mine as he watched me work. Which I did, probably with more industriousness for that warm presence against my side than I usually managed while sitting in a proper desk chair alone.

I counted two and a half reports and three quarters of an hour by the time display on my laptop before the shoulder resting against mine conceded that reports were one of the more boring things invented by man and slipped down, finding a more comfortable position against my hip that didn't involve watching me pen notes on scraps of paper. He didn't say anything and neither did I, but he didn't protest when I reached to smooth his hair back from his eyes.

Another half hour, the windows dark and reflecting the passing glow of the distant streets, found his head tucked securely against my thigh, his hand curved around my knee, and the soft rhythm of his breaths interspersed between the rustle of paper and the tap of my computer keys. A glance down proved his eyes were shut, the line of his brow relaxed, and a careful shift of my weight only elicited a sleepy sort of murmur before he settled back down again.

Score ten points for the Loire stealth plan. Squall invariably showed up in Esthar with circles under his eyes so dark they looked like ink smears - it was my personal goal to make sure that two weeks of cajoled, bribed and enforced rest erased them before sending him back to Balamb, and if the minister of whateverthehellitwas reports couldn't put someone to sleep then I didn't know what could. I brushed his hair back again, the strands sliding through my fingers to fall once more in disarray. Squall barely stirred, eyelids flickering, and I held my breath and the papers quiet until he stilled once more.

I could stealth type with the best, especially when I was only using one hand to begin with. The noise of the papers didn't seem to bother him and when I dropped one pen, watching it roll beneath the table, I bit back the curse that would have woken him far quicker than the tiny muffled thump of the pen against the carpet. Despite that, it was one of the better ways of working that I could think of - Squall's sleeping weight against my side, and the chance to reach out and touch whenever I liked, just lightly, careful not to wake him. The sound of his breath was soothing and the easy press of his cheek against my thigh was a warmth that I didn't want to take for granted.

I was on the next to last report, reading through pages of text that said, as far as I could tell, absolutely nothing with as many words as humanly possible, when the door opened. I managed not to jump but Squall stirred anyways, half twisting, restless on the verge of waking, and I hastily put a hand against his shoulder to quiet him.

"Laguna..." Kiros began as he walked in, but he broke off when I hissed through my teeth, looking up from the papers he was carrying to glance at me. I watched him take in our cozy arrangement on the couch, his eyes flickering across Squall, and felt the tension of the afternoon re-emerge to sink cold into my stomach as he frowned. Beneath my hand Squall shifted and then settled back down again, his breath lapsing into a steady rhythm once more.

Kiros' jaw was tightening but whatever he was going to say I beat him to it, pitching my voice as low as I could and still be heard. "Whatever it is, leave it on the table. I'll get to it."

"I didn't think you were still here until I saw the light on," Kiros replied quietly. His gaze slid back to Squall, his frown deepening. I opened my mouth to cut off the inevitable but Kiros shook his head, the beaded ends of his braids clicking softly. He watched us for another moment, then stepped forward, gesturing to the report I was holding against my knee. "Here. Give me that."

I just blinked at him. "Wha...?" But he had already snagged the report, bundling it up with the others on the table, and neatly stacked them atop his own. "Kiros?"

"I'll finish them," he answered shortly.

"But..."

"Don't worry about it," Kiros said firmly. He met my gaze, his own eyes darkened to black in the dimmed lights. Jerking his chin slightly, he indicted Squall. "Take him to bed."

My stomach was still trying to abortively tighten into knots in expectation of the sharp retort that apparently wasn't coming. It wasn't until Kiros slipped the pen from my hand that I found my voice again, the first thing I could reply slipping out without real thought. "I can't believe you just said that."

Kiros' smile was the same biting expression I had grown used to over the last months, but it didn't quite reach his eyes and his tone was almost amused. "To _sleep_, Laguna. He needs more of it. So do you. So take him to bed - I don't care whose - and both of you get some sleep."

"Generous of you," I replied, a bit testy. Kiros let the sharpness of my tone slide off him, shrugging.

"I'll have these for you in the morning," was all he said, gesturing with the reports, and then he turned to leave, the door sliding shut almost silently behind him.

When the door clicked shut Squall stirred, rolling over onto his back with a muffled yawn. "Think that was an apology for this afternoon."

"You think?" I echoed, then caught myself, frowning at him. "I thought you were asleep."

"I was, until he came in," Squall answered, the words punctuated with another yawn. "And you know him better than I do."

I sighed, sitting back. Squall caught my hand, his fingers slipping between mine. "Yeah," I admitted slowly. "That was Seagil shorthand for 'sorry I made a scene over lunch'."

Squall's fingers tightened over my own. "Don't worry about it," he advised quietly. "He'll get used to it."

I muffled a groan. "Eventually."

"Eventually," Squall echoed lightly and then smiled, the expression barely touching his lips. "So... you heard the man. Are you taking me to bed or not? This couch is too damn short for two people."

"Far be it from me to disobey orders," I replied. I leaned down to press a kiss to his forehead. "Come on. My rooms are closer."


	7. Little Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little something on a holiday for lovers...

"Squall!" Selphie, for all her slight stature, could put an astonishing amount of volume into a rising tone. "You _have_ to!"

"No," Squall repeated firmly. His irritation came out on the hapless paper he was signing, pen tip digging firm lines into the sharp letters of his signature. "I _don't_."

Selphie, however, was not to be so easily deterred. "Oh, come _on_," she wheedled. "It's your first lover's day. You've gotta get him something!"

"We already talked about it," Squall said shortly. The paper was flipped to the bottom of the stack in front of him and a bite of sandwich was grabbed and inhaled before he turned his attention to the next report. "No presents."

"Then get him a card," Selphie argued. "Just a little card. There's nothing wrong with _that_."

"No," was the response, flat and simple.

Selphie turned to the rest of the table for support. "Just a card! Or a little something... you've gotta get _something_... and," she added rather sharply, "you could _try_ not working while you're having lunch with us!"

Squall's mouth was already forming the negative reply when he realized what Selphie had actually said. Snapping his mouth shut again, he looked up from the reports with a sour glare.

"She's got a point, Squall," Irvine drawled. Reaching over, he twitched the top report off of the stack at Squall's elbow, glancing through it. "'...the flash and fire point test method, in field practice, depends on definite rates of impact to control the precision...' what the fuck is this?"

"You think _I'm_ reading it word for word?" Squall asked dryly, grabbing the report back. "And _yes_ I need to work right now - have you seen my desk lately?"

"Didn't get much work done on that 'working vacation', did you?" Nida asked, grinning. "Told you to leave it to Xu and me." Squall shot the other man a dark look and slapped the report back down with the others.

"People," Selphie interrupted, "stop trying to change the subject! Lover's day is end of the week. Squall..."

"_No_."

"Oh, fine, be that way," Selphie sulked. "Quistis? What are you getting?"

"I haven't decided," Quistis replied calmly. "Besides, I don't have time to go shopping."

"Liar," Nida scolded, grinning. He grabbed a french fry from Quistis' plate, avoiding her slap. "If you haven't decided then what's in that locked drawer in your desk?"

"None of your business," Quistis told him, exasperated. "And you wouldn't have even known it was locked if you hadn't been snooping around where you shouldn't."

"Hey, at least I didn't pick it," Nida protested. He stole another fry, only to offer it back to Quistis. "You don't even know where I _hid_ mine."

"Willing to bet on that?" Quistis asked, smirking.

"Alright, _you_ two got something," Selphie interjected. "Zell? Irvine? What about you?"

"What _is_ it about you and this holiday, Sephie?" Irvine sighed, leaning back in his chair. "Besides, I can't very well tell you what I got if he's sitting right here."

Zell hooked a foot around the leg of Irvine's chair, giving it a push that forced the taller man to grab for the table with a yelp in fear of tipping all the way back onto the floor. "Now who's the liar?" Zell said, grinning. "Isn't that kind of thing, Selphie. Give it a rest."

"Ooooh!" Selphie shoved her plate away, crossing her arms over her chest with a scowl. "Hyne, you're all as romantic as _rocks_, I swear! Who am I supposed to go shopping with?"

"Is _that_ what this is all about?" Irvine asked. "Selphie..."

"We've _seen_ you shopping," Squall interrupted dryly. "Even if I was getting something for Laguna - which I'm _not_ \- I guarantee I wouldn't be stepping foot in a shopping mall with _you_."

That resulted in a small tussle which drew the eyes of curious cadets all around the dining hall, intent on watching one of their field instructors pelt their Commander with icecubes, much to the amusement of the other instructors gathered around the table.

* * * * *

"Why," Squall asked sourly, two days later, "am I fucking _doing_ this?"

"Same reason I am," Zell answered, passing the can of soda they had been sharing to the other man. "Because you're a sucker for a pair of puppy dog eyes."

Squall glared at Zell, at the soda can, and then at Selphie, who had darted ahead of both men to enthusiastically window shop her way through the Balamb dockside mall. She was several shops down, waving to them to hurry up and pointing at something in one of the window displays that was an alarming shade of pink and cream. "Wrong," he growled. "I'm doing it because if I don't I won't hear the end of it until _next_ year." He took a swallow of the soda and handed it back. "And I'm still not getting anything."

Zell held his hands up in a placating gesture. "I believe you."

"Fuck," Squall sighed. "She's starting to bounce. If we don't go look at whatever that monstrosity is, she'll explode." He didn't, however, noticeably pick up his rather slow pace and Zell steadfastedly matched him stride for stride. "What about you? Thought you weren't shopping either. 'Not that sort of thing'."

The smaller man coughed slightly, ducking his head. "It's not," he said firmly. "But... well, hell. I happen to know Irvine's got a couple of bottles of Timber honey winter draft stashed away in the bottom of his closet, and he doesn't drink the stuff. So, y'know... I thought..."

"It might be for you?" Squall finished dryly.

"Yeah," Zell sighed. "Don't know if it's for this weekend or my birthday or if he's just forgotten they're there or what, but I figure I'd better get something just in case."

"You guys!" Selphie barreled between them, making Zell protest as the soda can was jostled and nearly upended. Bright eyed and beaming, Selphie hooked a hand around each of their arms, tugging them after her. "What's taking so long? Come on! You've got to see this... it's so _cute_!"

Squall exchanged a long suffering look with Zell. "Who are you shopping for, anyways?" he asked as Selphie hauled them back the way she had come.

"Yeah, Sephie," Zell added. "Anybody we know?"

Selphie, caught in mid gush about whatever she had found, flushed a bright shade of pink beneath the scattering of freckles on her cheeks. "None of your business!" she pronounced firmly. "Besides, maybe I'm just shopping for _me_."

"Or maybe," Zell told Squall in a loud stage whisper, "she's shopping for pink trimmed lace panties in the hopes that _someone_ will notice..."

"ZELL!"

"Ow! Fuck, Selphie, you've got a hard hand!"

"Not as hard as your head," Selphie huffed. "That was just mean."

"Aw, come on, Sephie, I didn't mean it," Zell told her, cajoling. "Come on, don't sulk... hey, look! Puppies!"

"Where?" was the immediate response, all pretext at sulking completely forgotten as Selphie turned to look. "Oooooh! Look! Aren't they cute? Oh, and they've got kittens too! Come on, we've gotta go look!"

"Zell," Squall groaned as Selphie took off, "a _pet_ store? Hyne, she's going to be in there squeaking for hours!"

"Never fear, Commander," Zell told him with a cheeky grin, "I have a _plan_. Hey, Selphie! No, you go look - we can't come in. No food, see?" He pointed to the sign posted by the door of the pet shop, and then to the soda can he was still holding. "Go on, we'll wait out here!"

Squall waited until Selphie had ducked back into the shop, then heaved a sigh and leaned back against the window. Inside, a collection of multi-colored fuzzy kittens were tumbling around over a stuffed ball. "Zell," he said reverently, "remind me to promote you a pay rank when we get back to Garden."

"Can do," Zell said, settling down onto the pavement in front of the shop. "And don't think for a minute I'll forget you said that."

* * * * *

"I don't _believe_ you," Selphie said in exasperation as they unloaded various bags out of the car. "That whole mall and you didn't see _anything_ to get him? Even Zell got something!"

"Zell knows when to play dumb," Zell whispered, deadpan, as he rescued his own bag from Selphie's collection. Squall shot him an irritated look.

"I said I wasn't getting anything," he said firmly, "and I meant it."

"You're just impossible," Selphie huffed. "I'll bet he got _you_ something."

"Not if he knows what's good for him," Squall sighed. "Are we _done_ now?"

"You're _hopeless_," Selphie told him primly. "I'll bet he got you a little something, you just wait and see!"

* * * * *

"Xu," Squall said, pushing open the door of the small office to lean inside, "have you seen the progress report from Trabia yet? I can't find... what the fuck is that?"

"Flowers," Xu replied, unperturbed. "Here's the report."

Squall blinked at the profusion of bright blossoms set in a vase on the corner of Xu's desk, belatedly stepping forward to take the printouts. "Flowers?" he repeated.

"They grow on bushes," Xu replied dryly. "Outside. You might have noticed."

"I know what they are," Squall said irritably. "Why redecorate?"

"I didn't," Xu said. "They're a present." At Squall's blank look she sighed. "Lover's day?" she prompted.

"Oh." Squall sounded less than impressed. "Forgot about that..." He trailed off, shoving back one sleeve to glare at his watch. "Wait, did..."

"Yes," Xu answered smoothly, "so you can stop panicking. President Loire's pilot radioed, his plane should be setting down in three hours. Did you want to go over this report now?"

It was, Xu thought, a rather amusing look - somewhere between indecision and outright panic, and not at all at home on Squall's normally taciturn expression. She watched as his eyes flickered from the report to the flowers, to the chronometer on the wall and then back to the flowers before some sort of consensus was reached. "Can you handle the reports this morning?" he asked, looking as though the words left an ashen taste in his mouth.

"Yes, and Daris can handle them this afternoon," Xu responded easily, firmly squelching the grin that wanted to escape. "Will we see you tomorrow, Commander?"

Squall gave her a look that could have instilled fear in a lesser soul and dumped the report back on her desk, turning on his heel and stomping out.

* * * * *

"Caraway's been kicking up a damn fit about the arms contract," Squall growled as he thumbed the call button. "I keep telling him if he thinks his engineers can out-design Esthar's he's welcome to take a shot at it."

"That'll be a cold day in hell," Laguna said, grinning. The older man was mussed but bright eyed, evidence of scraps of sleep caught on the flight. "Galbadia manufacturing is shit, it always has been. Don't even get me started about their artillery..."

The lift chimed softly as it arrived, the doors sliding open. Squall curtly gestured the other man to go first, stepping in after him and pressing for the third floor. He sighed as the doors slid shut once more, some of the rigid stiffness draining from his shoulders. "That enough about politics?" he asked, glancing sidelong at Laguna.

"Damn right," Laguna answered. Leaning forward, he claimed a quick kiss. "Mmm," he murmured, breath brushing warm over Squall's cheek. "Missed you."

"Yeah," Squall answered softly, the ghost of a smile twitching at his lips. "Straighten up. Xu's probably laying in wait outside my door with a stack of reports." The lift chimed again, signaling its destination, and the doors slid open.

Xu, contrary to Squall's dour prediction, was nowhere in sight. The administrative offices were quiet and they made it to Squall's own office without incident. Laguna shut the door with his hip, flicking the lock into place, and reached for Squall with a smile.

Squall returned the kiss with an uncharacteristic tension. Laguna settled his hands around the younger man's waist, frowning. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Squall said hastily. Catching Laguna's frown, he sighed. "No, really... there's nothing wrong. I just... ah..." he ducked his head and Laguna realized, startled, that there was a dull flush creeping across Squall's cheeks. "I... got you something," he finished, the low words rather rushed.

"Squall!" Delighted, Laguna dropped a kiss across the other man's forehead, grinning. "You got me something? But we weren't going to..." the grin faltered. "Oh Hyne, I didn't get you anything..."

"Don't!" Squall said hastily, his fingers digging sharply into Laguna's shoulders. "Really, you don't need to, just don't..." he sighed, dropping his head to Laguna's neck, his voice muffled. "Fuck, I don't even know why I did, but everybody's been after me and you said you thought you'd like one and if you don't want it just _say_ so, I can take it back..."

"Don't be silly," Laguna told him. "You got it for me. Of course I'll like it." He smiled, pulling the other man's head up long enough to press another kiss to Squall's flushed cheek. "Can I have it now?" he asked, grinning. "Do I get to unwrap it?"

"No," Squall sighed. "It's not wrapped. It's... Hyne. It's over in my coat."

Laguna snuck one more kiss before letting Squall go and heading to investigate. Squall's heavy leather coat was dumped on the desk rather than hung in its normal place across the back of the chair, as though Squall had been in a bit of a hurry when he left it there.

"Look, Laguna," Squall was saying behind him, his tone painfully embarrassed, "if you don't want it I can take it back, or find someone else to take it, or..."

There was something under a fold of the coat. Something nestled in amidst the softer lining - something no bigger than his palm, small and round and splotched in grey and cream fur.

"...didn't you say Michi wanted one? We could give it to her, or Selphie would love it, or..."

The tiny ball of fur opened large pale green eyes and blinked at Laguna before yawning in a micro display of sharp white teeth and curled, rough pink tongue.

"Squall," Laguna interrupted, his voice quietly delighted, "Hyne, she's _adorable_!"

* * * * *

_Epilogue: Laguna_

I had been laying in the dark, eyes turned blind to the ceiling, for the better part of an hour when the chirping beep of the alarm finally sounded softly. Given time it would escalate into an insistent blaring wake up call but I reached out, fumbling with my free arm, and slapped it off before it could ring more than twice.

The heavy weight across my other arm moved with a sullen sleepy sound, hands reaching for me. I turned towards them but put a hand on his shoulder to stop him before he rolled over. "Careful."

"I know," Squall growled quietly. He shifted again and a hand dipped between us, seeking out the small ball of warmth that was curled against my ribs. The rumble of a purr echoed in the dark, followed by a surprised squeak as the kitten was ousted from her nest and lifted to Squall's other side. Free of obstruction, Squall slid into my arms, body fitting neatly against my own. "Cats aren't chaperones," he mumbled, tucking his head against my shoulder. "And I had you first."

"No argument," I agreed, dropping a kiss onto his hair. His arms tightened around me and I slid my hands over the warm skin of his shoulders and back, following the smooth slope of his spine. "How did you sleep?"

He made an indistinct sound. "Alright," he allowed grudgingly after a bit of thought. "Of course," he added wryly, "I might just be dead tired."

"Poor baby," I mock sympathized. Kissing him again, I gathered him close. "Good you slept."

An affirmative sound answered me, mumbled somewhere near my collarbone. We lay for awhile in the darkness, just curled together, until Squall's low voice broke the silence. "Laguna?"

"Mmmm?" I answered.

He sighed, his breath gusting warm across my skin in an irritated puff. "Laguna, there's a _cat_ on my hip."

"I know," I said, grinning.

"You're not helping," he growled.

"She likes you," I protested. A reach through the dark brought warm fur in contact with my fingers and the exuberant rumbling purr burst forth once more.

"And her claws are sharp!" Squall yelped, tensing. "_Laguna_..."

"But she's just a little thing..."


	8. Hide and Seek

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Surprises...

Another day. Another finance report. Another fifteen page list of seven column math detailing funds for commuter maintenance and air traffic subsidiaries and military funding and this department and that department, oh, and this one over there and somewhere this was supposed to add up and make sense but what it really boiled down to was "please sign here, Mr. President, and we'll do the rest."

I tried one pen, discovered the ink had long since died and moved on to its next life as a star performer on someone's bicep, and went looking in my desk drawer for another. The right drawer yielded two pencils, a felt pen in red, a yellow highlighter, a plethora of paper clips that were building a small cityscape and probably in the midst of voting in their first senate, and a palm sized plastic tube that rattled pathetically with the last few painkillers from... when _had_ I twisted out my back? Or rather, when had Kiros, in an ill advised challenge that I must have been drunk to accept, tossed me heels over head onto a gym mat and left me seeing white hot stars while my spine realigned with an audible pop? Hm. Sometime in early fall. Well, it's not as though pills go _bad_, right? Never know when hefting an Odine-special report, in triplicate, into an outbox might sprain something.

I was rummaging through the left hand drawer - gum, more pencils, pens in every bright color under the sun except black or utilitarian blue and would they really care if I signed the finance report in teal? - when my cel rang. I grabbed it one handed and flipped it up, peeling open a lower drawer full of file folders in the vain hope of maybe having filed a pack of pens with the other. "Laguna."

"Hey."

There were thousands of miles and tiny cel phone wiring between us but it didn't matter - the sound of Squall's voice, low and lazy and just that faint hint of amusement, dropped the search for a pen straight out of my head. I leaned back in my chair, phone cradled to my ear. When I closed my eyes I could picture him - early morning in Balamb and the lights in his office still dim, pale late winter sun from the window picking out the auburn colors in his hair. "Hi," I managed. A few dozen things battled it out on the tip of my tongue but phone lines were never completely secure - he'd repeatedly told me that - and what finally came out was an almost nonchalant "What do I owe this to?"

"Meeting deadlines," he replied cryptically. Either he knew the line was definitely bugged or he just enjoyed driving me insane; I was never sure which. "Second drawer in the filing cabinet, Laguna. Third file." He paused, then added, "and you've got a pack of pens in the back of your center drawer."

I blinked. "When did you take up mind reading?"

"When you answer the phone the with that 'I'm busy looking for something' tone," he said. I could hear the laughter in his voice, but at best it'd be only the barest ghost of a smile touching his lips. "New pens are in the center drawer of your desk, your secretary keeps them stocked. Second drawer, third file, filing cabinet. Talk to you later."

The line went dead with a click, dialtone ringing hollow. I pulled it away from my ear to stare at it in disbelief.

There are people who will tell you that Squall Leonhart doesn't have a sense of humor. They've never been on the receiving end of one of _these_ stunts.

'Deadlines'. Hyne, what had I filed and forgotten?

The better question, as I shortly discovered, was where had I put the key to the filing cabinet? The answer was not in any of my desk drawers, though the center drawer did, in fact, produce the promised pack of fresh pens. I put one on the finance report and dug around through the back reaches of the drawer to no avail. No key.

My secretary, bless her organized mind, didn't even look up from what she was typing when I leaned through the door into the outer office. "The pens are in your center desk drawer, Mr. President."

I bit my tongue. "...er. Yes, thank you, Michi." Was everyone _except_ me telepathic, or had I been making that much noise rummaging through the drawers? "Actually, I'm looking for the key to the filing cabinet."

Michi gave me a firm look over the rim of her glasses. There were times I was quite certain that she considered herself my babysitter instead of my secretary. Good secretaries, however, were hard to find - for a really superb one I would pay for the abuse happily as long as it also got my schedule and office organized. I gave her my best harmless look and she sighed and pulled a silver ring with two small keys on it from her desk drawer. "Please return them when you're done," she reminded me as she handed them over. "These are the last copies."

"I'll remember," I promised.

The second of the keys - it will _never_ be the first key you try, that's a universal law - unlocked the filing cabinet. Third drawer, second file? No... surely even Squall wouldn't willingly go through the expense reports for the labs. Especially not ones nearly a year old. Third drawer... ah, no, _second_ drawer, _third_ file. Some other outdated something that I hadn't had to look at in a year or more, but the file was curiously thick and when I pulled it out a thin rectangular package the size of my hand slipped from between the pages.

Thin. Rectangular. And wrapped, very neatly, in plain shiny red paper. I knew what it was before I opened it - the smell of the chocolate, rich and sweet, came faintly through the wrapping.

There was a Deling chocolatier wrapper underneath the red paper - an honest to god Deling made dark chocolate fudge bar, sitting on top of my reports. There weren't many things I could say I missed about Deling and more than a few things that I was just as happy to never see again, but Deling fudge... _that_ I regreted. It was a minor vice, one that had gotten me through the occasional rough day back in my youth. Esthar chocolates, made from northern grown beans, never tasted the same. The smell of it, free of the wrapping paper, was a memory all by itself.

There was a phone number - Garden code - written in black ink on the underside of the wrapper. I retrieved my celphone and punched the number in, listening to the ring of the other end impatiently.

On the third ring Squall picked up. "_How_ did you put that in there?" I demanded. "When?"

He chuckled, the sound low and warm in my ear. "Is it the right type?"

"It's perfect." I breathed it in again, sweet smell and chocolate and the pleased smug purr of his tone through the phone. "You're not going to tell me how it got into a locked drawer, are you?"

"Of course not." The laughter shading his words never quite made it all the way out; from one moment to the next he shifted, amusement fading. "All my love," he whispered, the words curling around me like the absent press of his arms, "from me to you."

I closed my eyes. There was a date pad on my desk but I didn't need to look at it; 'deadlines' indeed. It was the day for lovers on the Balamb calendar.

There are lots of people who would tell you that the Commander of the Gardens doesn't know the meaning of the word "romance" either. He may be the only person to ever tackle it like espionage, but if Deling fudge in my filing cabinet isn't romance then I don't know what is.

"I love you too," I whispered. Through the silence of the phone I could hear his smile.


End file.
